Wally Lamb, riding high on the success of his debut novel, She’s Come Undone, gifted readers with I Know This Much Is True in 1998. Just as its predecessor, this sophomore novel earned the coveted Oprah’s Book Club seal, a double-edged sword that undeniably broadened its readership. While Oprah’s endorsement is acknowledged with gratitude by Lamb, alongside a diverse list of individuals from his publisher to his local bakery crew at the Sugar Shack Bakery (essential for those long writing sessions!), the novel stands on its own merit as a powerful and sprawling family saga.
I Know This Much Is True centers on identical twin brothers, Dominick and Thomas Birdsey, born at the cusp of decades – late 1949 and early 1950. Physically mirror images, they diverge significantly in personality. Dominick embodies aggression and boldness, while Thomas is characterized by meekness and struggles with paranoid schizophrenia. The narrative unfolds in the fictional Connecticut town of Three Rivers, mirroring Lamb’s own Norwich. The story ignites in October 1990 with Thomas’s admission to a maximum-security psychiatric ward after a graphic act of self-harm in the local library, driven by the delusion that it would prevent the Gulf War. Dominick, the narrator, embarks on a strenuous journey to safeguard his brother’s sanity, and consequently, his own.
Dominick’s first-person narration propels this expansive narrative through past and present. He grapples with protecting and resenting his fragile brother. Set in their forties, the story skillfully employs flashbacks to enrich the plot and build suspense. Adding layers to the narrative is Dominick’s mother’s gift: his grandfather’s memoir. This memoir unveils the history of a determined Italian immigrant, Domenico Tempesta, interwoven with Dominick’s present-day narration and flashback sequences. The novel’s ambition is evident, as noted by The New York Times Book Review, which likened Lamb’s aspiration to “a modern-day Dostoyevsky with a pop sensibility.” The narrative delves into psychology, religion, consumerism, the treatment of Native Americans, contemporary American life, and foreign policy. However, the novel leans more towards “pop” accessibility, making these digressions digestible and less profoundly Dostoevskian.
Dominick, the narrator, is deliberately crafted as an unlikable figure, perpetually angry and abrasive, with flashbacks reinforcing his somewhat “asshole” tendencies. Seeking to prevent Thomas’s transfer to a less suitable facility, Dominick encounters Dr. Patel, Thomas’s psychiatrist, and inadvertently becomes her patient. Dr. Patel guides Dominick through psychoanalysis, urging him to confront his past to resolve his present conflicts. This therapeutic process serves as a narrative device, seamlessly integrating flashbacks from the 1950s to the present day. These sessions gradually soften Dominick in the reader’s eyes, as the extent of his traumatic past is unveiled: an unknown father, an abusive stepfather, a seemingly favoritism-showing mother, unsettling undertones of incest (in the attic), sibling rivalry, substance abuse, child pornography, rape, and the specter of dead babies. While the narrative stops short of explicitly depicting the rape of dead babies, the accumulation of horrors leaves the reader reeling. It’s unsurprising that Dominick emerges as a deeply conflicted adult, leading a life marked by dissatisfaction with his job, resentment towards his ex-wife, a fleeting affair with a gym instructor harboring her own secrets, and the constant burden of responsibility for Thomas. His feelings for Thomas are a turbulent mix of love and hatred. While “sympathetic” might be too strong a word, Dominick’s angry voice becomes increasingly understandable, his account compelling, drawing the reader into a trainwreck-like fascination. A particularly poignant scene captures young Dominick’s realization of his and Thomas’s distinct identities, marking the genesis of their complex relationship – a yearning for sameness from one, and a rejection of it from the other.
Image: Wally Lamb at the 2013 Texas Book Festival. (Alt: Author Wally Lamb at a book festival)
Around three-quarters into the novel, just as Lamb has secured the reader’s full engagement, the narrative shifts focus to Dominick’s grandfather’s memoir. This conveniently “lost and found” manuscript, penned by “Domenico Tempesta, a man of humble beginnings,” chronicles a self-made man’s pursuit of success for posterity. Domenico Sr. quickly reveals himself as a self-absorbed individual, callously abandoning his mother in Italy to chase the American dream at any cost. Dominick despises his grandfather, and the reader is likely to share this sentiment towards a man driven solely by ambition, regardless of the ethical price. The memoir section presents several narrative challenges. It serves as extensive exposition, which could have been more concisely summarized, yet it stretches for nearly two hundred pages. Furthermore, the writing quality of the memoir is intentionally, and almost ridiculously, poor. This is partially justified by the narrative – Domenico’s grandiosity and Dominick’s translation from Sicilian dialect, with untranslated phrases included for “authenticity.” However, the parody is overt from the outset, lacking the lyrical quality of Italian, relying instead on italicized Italian words that are largely self-explanatory (Omerta, zuppa, bambino, signora), peppered throughout the text.
The humor, however, lies in the details. One character in Domenico’s memoir is named Ciccolina, described as “a bowlegged old butcher-woman burdened with a hunchback and breasts that hung from her like big sacks of semolina.” This description subtly alludes to “Cicciolina,” the stage name of Ilona Staller, an iconic Italian adult film star born in 1952. Cicciolina’s fame extended across Europe, becoming synonymous with large-breasted women in some cultures. Beyond her adult entertainment career, Cicciolina ventured into politics, serving in the Italian Parliament from 1987 to 1991 while continuing her adult film work and delivering political speeches with exposed breasts. When questioned about her credibility, she famously retorted, “My breasts have never done anyone any harm, while bin Laden’s war has caused thousands of victims.” In 1991, mirroring Thomas’s self-harm in the novel to prevent the Gulf War, Cicciolina offered herself to Saddam Hussein for world peace, an offer repeated in 2002 and to Osama Bin Laden in 2006, all declined. This unexpected, almost surreal, historical and cultural reference adds a layer of dark humor and irony to the memoir section.
Despite the memoir’s questionable narrative quality, the main storyline of I Know This Much Is True maintains momentum, delivering emotional blows that relentlessly impact Dominick. The reading experience becomes akin to consuming addictive junk food – knowingly unhealthy yet compulsively consumed. However, as the novel approaches its conclusion, a significant misstep occurs, nearly diminishing its rating.
In conclusion, I Know This Much Is True is an undeniably lengthy novel anchored by two compelling main characters that compensate for weaker aspects of the supporting cast. It offers engaging entertainment within familiar narrative boundaries, but falters significantly in its final act, dissipating its accumulated impact and leaving the reader questioning the author’s choices. Instead of achieving lasting literary resonance, it becomes a long, often absorbing, but ultimately disappointing read. While Lamb’s later novel, The Hour I First Believed, sounds intriguing, the mixed reception and the flaws of I Know This Much Is True temper the eagerness to delve further into his works.
